20 Action {19}

The world was bleak- wiped clean of anything valuable; a blank slate. His mind shut down as his body remained heavily swaying with the motion of his tears. Words of comfort were mockery; a squeeze of the shoulder stabbed him.

Everything hurt. And as more and more sunk into him the pain didn't stop- building and building a platform over his heart as it crushed it.

His mother. Dead. Lifeless by the end of his knees he fell to.

The woman who birthed him, raised him, took care of him now horrifically removed from the world too soon- too dam soon.

What did it feel like? What did it feel like to die, to be renedered useless as your body crumbled into dust...

Was it painful? Was it heart wrenching? Would it have eased the throb if he had been here to hold her hand as she took her final breaths?

Liam squeezed his tear-sodden eyes. The grief racked through his bones. A weight was pulling him into the ground as he stared through the blur of his welling eyes, and caressed his mother's features.

His eyes trailed, each second burning him to where the wound laid. It made his insides leaden, a wave of agony shredding through him as he bit his lips and screamed again.

And again.

And again.

...Until his voice was hoarse and the world fell silent. Drowning out the noises to give him that chance to be heard.

Hauling her lifeless body onto his knees, Liam cupped her paling head, feeling his limp mother grow cold.

His fingers stroked her eyelids, bringing them to a close; beneath her left eye was a single tear that had soaked into her skin.

Surveying his mother further his throat constricted.

Cel's nightgown had a gash right where the weapon struck; bubbling blood on the smooth silk following the crevices produced by the creases. Bare legs sprawled under the silk of her wrecked gown, her hands, covered in tiny markings that looked like scratches...

"Not very presentable are we" he sniffed to her, his grip around her frame tightening, "L-let's clean you up, you have your big day tomorrow"

His words were not answered, nor were they looked upon without sadness.

Slowly, as if savouring the moment he brushed a strand from her face, mouthing the word, "beautiful..."

No one stopped him. No one.

"Your hair even like this still shines mother-"

Nothing. A beat. Silence. Even the voice inside his head wept. He was childish for doing this- for hoping to get a few priceless seconds with her. When did Liam last tell his mother he loved her...

He pushed out, guilt ridden "Rest now"

He went to kiss her forehead, his arms shaking while he laid her carefully as if a newborn baby back to the floor.

His head remained lowered as he stood, fists clenched.

All guards had cleared out, waiting behind the door in the hall for him to re-emerge; no longer a prince... but a king.

Could he do it? Could he keep her legacy?

The fists grew tighter, his own nails digging into his skin.

Why did it scare him so much?

The tears came flooding back, his face scrunched as he felt the darkness loom in his chest- so deep he thought he would collapse. But then the image of the wound re-appeared, and that pain evolved to anger. The flowing rhythm of throbbing entered his veins and his eyes glistened in wrath.

Turning his head, Liam left through the open door, his attention on the guards- faces taunt and distant.

"Who did it"

A simple command to which he was shunned.

The sun was finally breaking night, slowly arising as he spoke again, unfaltering, "who. Killed. Her."

The guards mumbled in answer, looking toward someone slouched in the corner.

The king.

His hair was a mess, an empty scabbard lay beside him- the sword no where to be seen.

The prince directed his question to him, eyes firm as he held the man's stare.

"Who killed the Queen"

The words... they were so cold, so distant.

"The one who jumped from the window" those words were equally cold...

The king sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. A look of shock still plastered his face- almost disbelief at the events.

"It was the assassin- The Shadow"

Liam's colour drained, mind rattling.

With all morals forsaken the Prince took a step closer to the king. "Did you see it happen?" He asked.

"Would you have any reason to doubt me?"

"At this moment in time, I wouldn't put anything past you- Mort"

The king froze, eyes pausing on the prince. He sneered, standing up in his rustling armour and approached.

"What did you just address me as?"

Liam held his footing. He knew dam well how he addressed him. "Mort, funny name- is there a problem with it?"

Calm and unfazed. "That is your name is it not?"

The king frowned hatefully, a knowing smirk on Liam's lips as he saw the silent conformation the kings pride would not allow him to reveal.

"why the sudden change?" Mort asked, fury boiling at the disrespect. "What happened to 'King' or 'your majesty'?"

Mort dared edge closer, no fear in his dark eyes at all.

"You may be a king" Liam pushed, "but not here"

The tone was almost threatening. What got into him?

The king was taken aback.

"I will be, now that your mother has passed-"

"-The mantle of ruler will be passed onto me... Mort"

Liam was treading on a thin line, but he couldn't see it, too clouded with anger and pain.

"The wedding was to take place tomorrow morning, and as that is no longer possible, the responsibility of the crown falls to me"

He sucked in a breath; he felt as if he was being dangled on a fine thread over a cliff, "No union happened, no arrangement. I am, as the heir, next in line for the throne"

Mort growled, the creases on his forehead deepening.

He went to shout something before Liam placed a hand to his chest plate, holding him at bay.

"And if you have a problem with that" he paused, turning around quickly, "then leave"

"Listen here Liam-"

Gosh- his tone was so childish, like a toddler loosing a previous toy. "You are not in the right headspace to rule, your judgement is swayed by grief"

"And yours isn't?" Liam breathed, "Oh but of course, you never actually cared for her did you?"

The king growled in response.

"Your mind is too young"

Feeble- such a feeble excuse.

Liam huffed, growing irritated, "My mother ruled at the age of 18, had me at the age of 19, and managed to balance both. And you are telling me, I, a 23 year old cannot rule a country- my country! Then you must have been dropped on your head at birth"

"But did she succeed?"

Liam halted his walking. Face painstakingly vexed.

The king pointed out at the windows, out at the people.

"Did she serve her country well? There are people still causing crimes, still homeless people roaming the streets, and the army hasn't even reached its full potential!" The king spat, tired of this spoilt prince getting his way. His arms were flailing while trying to convey the message.

But Liam's face told him everything he needed to know- he didn't give a dam about his opinion. At least, not now.

Mort scoffed, thinking he was speaking to brick wall.

"Yes of course your Queen did a wonderful job in ruining this country with her ideals of equality, peace- it's nonsense. It's survival of the fittest out there and those who thrive stay at the top- those who fall remain fallen"

The king stood straight, eyeing the prince. "I see that the Queen has taught you not, on how to behave as a king-"

"Enough!" Liam raged.

His breathing was ragged as he pulled on his sweaty clothes. He needed air to breathe- the tension suffocating.

"Those with responsibility have the power to change that. My mother had the power to change that and so will I"

Mort laughed- he actually laughed.

Swirling where he stood the Prince had enough.

"Why do you want the throne so badly?"

The king looked upon the young prince, eyes dancing as embers. "Isn't it obvious?"

His manor was sadistic. "I'm the South's salvation. I've come to stop this empire from collapsing- and the only way I can do that is if I ascend to the throne"

Liam mulled it over- all pieces like a puzzle falling into place.

"Is that why you bribed my own guard in assassinating me?"

A test. A fine trip wire to see if the king would fall.

All those around them gasped.

"What??" The king shouted, astounded at such accusations.

"You heard" Liam spat.

"The Shadow saved my life" Liam began to walk away, "-from you"

Liam knew he had just thrown his last playing card, and that it was up to fate to decide the rest. But what he hadn't expected was a shadow catching up to him from behind.

The shadow of a fanatic king.

Mort lunged for the prince, fist primed at the ready, but a southern guard ran between them, parrying the king and knocking the mad man from standing.

Instantly more guards surrounded the prince in defence as he just watched, eyes glossed over from the tears.

"Get this man out of my sight" Liam exclaimed, his words more than a whisper. His mental capacity was at its limit. He needed time.

Before the king could protest, Liam interjected, his pain heading to another person who he had quarrel with.

"And if you find her, bring the assassin to me"

Liam brushed past his soldiers, neck stiff.

"I want to be the one to kill her myself"

Those witness stared at awe at the Prince- no, the king of the southern kingdom as he traipsed away, his messy clothing suffocating him with every step.

And Unknowingly to the young King, Mort grinned in pleasure at the request.

~

"Are you certain?"

"Never been more certain in my life... that's- that's the princess..."

Crunches of twigs edged nearer, the voices getting louder causing Aloysia to twitch; the foreign voices stepped back.

Vision blurry, along with the most painful headache in the world knocked her back to consciousness as her body stirred.

She curled her legs to her chest and pushed herself to sit. Everything was sore, her legs, arms, and heart. Sore from the guilt still drowning her in her own tears.

She couldn't save Cel.

The birds chimed overhead as the suns rays filled the air with choking warmth. Even for winter.

She was stiff at the worlds silence, but soon shifted her attention to the two strangers staring at her. Her vision was blurry, so a rough outline of cloaks was all her eyes could picture.

Once the strangers realised they had been caught staring, their bodies froze, rooted to the very spot they stood on.

That's when it hit her...

Her hood... she couldn't feel the weight shrouding her face... it wasn't covering her eyes-

...They could see the Princess in the shoes of an assassin...

Pain struck through her head, causing her to cower and clutch her mind that was rattling. Her breathing rose to almost hyperventilation when the pain suddenly submerged itself.

"Where am I and what time of day is this", Aloysia spoke, her throat hoarse and dry from the agony that was grief and dehydration, but gained no answer.

Attempting to hoist herself up using a nearby branch, the twig snapped, sending her crashing back to the tough, frost-bitten ground. Aloysia grunted on impact, her entire body screaming at her not to move; sore to the touch. She hadn't been this bad for a very long time.

With arms shaking alarmingly, she once again attempted her ascent to standing. Biting her lip dangerously hard to relieve the pain that rippled through her body; her attempt was successful.

However, the two strangers were no no longer there. They had ran off.

This was bad.

Very bad...

If they told anyone they saw The Shadow as the princess...

That would destroy her...

Groaning at the pain, and releasing a breath painfully held back, she began stumbling in the direction of the nearest village, Hakya, with an intent as dark as her blackened, twisted soul.

What more did she have to loose?